Bread crumbs,
Pieces of food,
Drying on a table,
After a meal.
Petals,
Leaves of a flower,
Wet on the ground,
After a storm.
Teacups,
Echoes of conversation,
Circles on a glass top,
After a visit.
Prayer,
Whispers of hope,
Absorbed into the soul,
After a ceremony.
Longings,
Impressions of love,
Fading in time,
After a breakup.
Rainbow,
Arching of colors,
Glistening in sunlight,
After the rain.
Hope,
Filling the heart,
Ushering future,
When all else is gone.
,הַלַּיְלָה שׁוּב הָיִיתִי שָׂם
,חוֹזֵר לְהַמְשִׁיךְ אֶת שֶׁהִפְסַקְתִּי לִפְנֵי דּוֹר
,מַמָּשׁ כְּמוֹ שֶׁהִבְטַחְתִּי לְרַב סֶרֶן מְעוּטָּר
.בָּעֶרֶב הַהוּא, כְּשֶׁהַחֲלוֹם נִשְׁבָּר
,רִיצָה אֲרוּכָּה, הִתְנַשְּׁפִויות
,סְבִיבִי אֲנָשִׁים זָרִים
,בְּמָקוֹם מוּכָּר
.שֶׁשּׁוּם דָּבָר לֹא הִשְׁתַּנָּה בּוֹ, גַּם בַּחֲלוֹם
,רֵיחוֹת מִדְבָּר מְיוּחָדִים
,מַדִּים חֲמוּצִים, זֵיעָה צוֹרֶבֶת
,וְגוּף דּוֹאֵב תְּמִידִית
.מִמַּאֲמָץ שֶׁאֵינוֹ מַרְפֶּה
,בַּמְּצִיאוּת הַהִיא רוֹמֶזֶת הַיְּדִיעָה
,כְּמוֹ מַשּׂוּאַת מִגְדָּל מִמֶּרְחַקִּים
,שֶׂמָה שֶׁהָיָה כְּבָר לֹא יִהְיֶה
.אֲבָל כְּמוֹ אָז גַּם עַכְשָׁיו, מַמְשִׁיכִים
,בְּעוֹלָם הָעֵרוּת כְּבָר הֵבַנְתִּי מִזְּמַן
,לְאַט לְאַט, וְלֹא לְבַד
,שֶׁכּוֹל זֶה הָיָה רַק חֲלוֹם
.שֶׁחָלַמְתִּי בַּמְּצִיאוּת
,אַךְ בְחֶשְׁכַת הַלַּיִל אֲנִי דּוֹאֶה שׁוּב דָּרוֹמָה
,לַכְּאֵב, לַעֲיֵיפוֹת, לַרִיפְיוֹן, וְלַנְּחִישׁוּת
,וְשׁוֹאֵל אֶת עַצְמִי שׁוּב מִתּוֹךְ שֵׁינָה, אִם הַפַּעַם
.זֶה יִסְתַּיֵּים אַחֶרֶת
Tonight I was back there, again,
Returning to continuing what I have stopped a generation ago,
Just as I had promised a decorated Major,
That evening, when the dream broke.
Long run, gasping,
Surrounded by strangers,
In a familiar place,
Where nothing had changed, even in the dream.
Unique desert smells,
Sour uniforms, burning sweat,
And a constantly sore body,
From a relentless effort.
In that reality knowledge hints,
Like a tower beacon from afar,
That what was, shall not be,
But much like then, now too, carrying on.
In the woken world I have long since understood,
Slowly, slowly, and not by myself,
That all this was just a dream,
I have dreamed in reality.
But in the darkness of the night, I glide back south,
To the pain, the fatigue, the limpness, and determination,
And ask myself once more in my slumber, if this time,
It will end differently.
We now live in the age of the hammer,
More so than we have done before,
We bring down the hammer to test objects, beliefs, people,
And solve most else we can with its blow.
In the age of the hammer, everything is a nail,
Objects, ideas, human, shatter in place, upon impact,
Tougher yet matters are hardened, pushed deeper into the surface,
In what seems to many like fortification and betterment.
The hammer is great for solidifying subjects in place,
Even more so for solidarity.
Smack one, smack two, smack three, are we done?
After a while, the blows become an obscured background noise.
Hammers are easy to carry and deploy,
No laws, no restrictions prevent them from so,
Free up the tool, let it bang to the masses,
The thunder of crowd and the will of the people.
Take caution, ol’ friends, plenty tools in the box,
For precision of craft, and fine-tuning of goal,
Turn and shape, push and roll, make true effort to end,
For results of unique, wholesome, artful, and right.
A clean white room, dimly lit,
No clock on the bare wall,
A single chair in the middle,
Inviting and repealing all at once.
Sit back in silence, wait,
The padding is misleadingly comfortable,
Voices chase from the hallway behind,
Extending the day with timeless anticipation.
They walk in, together, a team,
Take invisible positions to my sides,
Their voices friendly, engaging,
Will they hurt me? Will it be fast?
Movement. I drop back, then rise,
Bright light is shining in my face,
Jaw-dropping, high-pitch sounds,
Eyes closed, I depart to another dimension.
A storm is brewing within me,
Gushing waters, swirling winds,
The sounds are deafening,
I am free, but am utterly bound.
Some unknown time later,
I am recalled from my sanctuary,
The tempest had subsided,
They help me back on my feet.
Walk toward the door, freedom,
I am not yet out, not yet,
The voice again behind me, warning,
Don’t eat or drink for another hour.
The pulse that had slowed down to a murmur,
Stopped.
The breathing, which struggled for hours,
Became a whisper,
And ceased.
The still air in the room,
Slivery dust particles, frozen in place,
Like a faraway galaxy, barely visible,
Glistening.
A few doors down,
A nurse notes the monitor screen,
Flat.
A casual walk to the room.
At the side of the bed, wrist lifted.
Doctor, attending,
Wrist lifted once again.
Time of death, three fifteen.
Body covered, white sheet.
The door closes, the room is vacant,
The dust galaxy slows itself down,
From the interruption.
In a different place, miles away,
People will be notified,
Soon.
There, and in other spaces,
More will recall, remember,
A conversation, a day, a picture.
A life.
An endless set of gestures,
Decades in the making,
Come to harvest.
An act of help,
A sign of care,
A token of love,
A shrug of disregard,
A kind touch,
A word of inspiration.
A legacy that formed over a lifetime,
From countless actions,
Dispersed to many,
Who will soon come,
To testify, at last,
For the one,
Who is no longer.
The bed is bare,
The room empty,
A silver galaxy rests still,
Glistening,
Outside the room,
In the world,
A legacy is born.
,שִׁירָה
,נוֹלֶדֶת מִתּוֹךְ הָרֶגֶשׁ
,מִצַּעַר וּכְאֵב
,מִגַּעְגּוּעַ
.מִמַּפָּח נֶפֶשׁ
,יוֹצֵאת אֶל הָאוֹר
.וְמִזְדָכֶכֶת
,וְהַמִּלִּים שֶׁבָּהּ
,עוֹבְרוֹת, חוֹלְפוֹת
,מְאוֹת אֶל דַּף
,מִפֶּה לָאֹזֶן
,מְלַטְּפוֹת חֶרֶשׁ
,מַרְגִּיעוֹת נְשָׁמָה
,מְרַפְּאוֹת מָזוֹר
.וּמְבִיאוֹת בְּרָכָה
Poetry,
Born from emotion,
From sorrow and pain,
From longing,
From frustration.
It comes to light,
And is refined.
The words in it,
Pass, flee,
From letter to page,
From mouth to ear,
Quietly caressing,
Relaxing soul,
Healing pain,
And ushering blessing.
,מַעָצוֹרֵי חֲנָיָה – וַדֵּא, דְרוּכִים
,מִצְעֶרֶת לְסְרָק, בִּרְזֵי דֶּלֶק – סְגוּרִים
,מַדָּפִים, מַעָצוֹרֵי אֲוִיר – מְכֻנָּסִים
.זִכְרוֹנוֹת יַלְדוֹּת – מִדֵּי פַּעַם חוֹזְרִים
,מַחְוָונֵי דֶּלֶק – כַּמּוּיוֹת, בְּדוֹק הַגָאִים
,מְקַזֵּז לְהַמְרָאָה, מֶזֶג אֲוִיר – דִּוּוּחִים
,טִיּוּל לַגָּלִיל – בְּיַחַד פּוֹסְעִים
.שִׁלְטֵי אִסּוּר הָעִשּׁוּן – דּוֹלְקִים
,אוֹרוֹת פָּאנֶל – בְּחַר, לְפִי הַצְּרָכִים
,מַד גּוֹבֵהַּ – כַּיֵיל, הַפְעֵל מְשַׁכְּכִים
,אֲרוּחָה מִשְׁפַּחְתִּית – אָקוֹרְדְּיוֹן וְשִׁירִים
.שִׂיחָה רַק אִיתּוֹ – לִפְנֵי כַּמָּה יָמִים
,בְּדִיקַת קֶשֶׁר בַּתָא – שׁוֹמֵעַ, תַּקִּין
,וְעוֹד קוֹל אֶחָד, בַּלֵּב פְּנִימָה זָמִין
,מִתְיָישֶׁר, הַמְרָאָה, עֲנָנִים נְמוּכִים
.מַחְשָׁבוֹת נוֹדְדוֹת, צֵא כִּוּוּן, מַמְשִׁיכִים
,בִּשְׁמֵי הָעֵמֶק חַג לוֹ עַיִט
,תָּר אֶת אַדְמָתוֹ
,כָּאן גָּדַל, פָּרָשׂ כְּנָפַיִם
.פּה הֵקִים בֵּיתוֹ
,עוֹד מַבָּט, נִפְנוּף זָנָב
,פּוֹנֶה הוּא לְדַרְכּוֹ
,פְּרִי יָדָיו, עָמַל חַיָּיו
.מַתְוֶה אֶת סִפּוּרוֹ
,אִישׁ צָעִיר אוֹחֵז בַּנֶּשֶׁק
,לוֹחֵם עַל אַדְמָתוֹ
,אִישׁ צָעִיר נוֹשֵׂא אִשָּׁה
.מֵקִים כָּאן מִשְפָּחְתו
,אָץ הַמֶּשֶׁק, מִתְפַּתֵּחַ
,אִישׁ נוֹשֵׂא כֵּלָיו
,מִטְבָּח, פלב”מ, מַזְכִּיר הַמֶּשֶׁק
.שְׁכוּנָה בְפֵאָתַיו
,אִישׁ צוֹעֵד, אָדְּמַת הָעֵמֶק
,יוֹדַעַת נְעַלַיו
,נְתִיבִים חָרַץ בָּהּ אֶלֶף
.מֵחֹרֶף וְעַד סְתָו
,אִישׁ בּוֹגֵר, עָמַל דַּרְכּוֹ
,לְרֶגַע לֹא שָׁקַט
,אִם כַּבְדוּ רַגְלָיו לְפֶתַע
.לֹא רָפוּ יָדָיו
,אִישׁ שֵׂיבָה, נָטָה לָנוּחַ
,מַסְלוּל חַיָּיו נִשְׁלָּם
,אַדְמַת הָעֵמֶק שֶׁאָהַב
.חוֹבֶקֶת לְעוֹלָם
In the valley’s skies an eagle flies,
Scanning its land,
Here it grew, spread its wings,
Here it built its house,
Another scan, a tiny tail wave,
It turns and flies away,
The fruit of its hands, the labor of its life,
Lays down its story.
A young man bearing arms,
Defender of his land,
A young man takes a wife,
Starts his family here.
The kibbutz is rushing forward, developing,
A man is carrying its tools,
Kitchen, stainless steel, kibbutz secretary,
A neighborhood at its outskirts.
A man walks, the valley ground,
Knows his feet,
A thousand paths he marked in it,
From winter to autumn.
A grown man, his path’s work
Never rested for a moment,
If his feet grew heavy suddenly,
His hands were not weakened.
A gray man, tended to rest,
His life course is completed,
The valley ground he loved so dearly,
Hugging for eternity.
Son and a brother,
Student and teacher,
What makes a boy,
At the end of the day?
Husband and father,
Leader and speaker,
What makes a man,
At the end of the day?
Lover and cheater,
Tough and a quitter,
What makes one right,
At the end of the day?
Saint and a convict,
Monster and spirit,
Who gets redeemed,
At the end?
A poem that no one hears,
A story that no one reads,
A rhyme that no one enjoys,
A play that no one acts.
A picture that no one sees,
A bloom that no one smells.
A song that no one sings,
A vision that no one dreams.
A table where no one dines,
A food that no one tastes,
A path that no one takes,
An ocean where no one sails.
A person that no one knows,
A kiss that no one lands,
A love that no one shares,
A child that no one bears.
Wishes, attempts, in abundance,
Hope everlasting, endurance,
Mother earth in a spin, dust particles float, glistening,
Let the fragments pollinate, life begins.